


What Dreams May Come

by 406ink



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jonerys, Jonerys Oneshot, all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/406ink/pseuds/406ink
Summary: A oneshot where Jon is haunted nightly by dreams of Daenerys only to find she’s dreamed of him too.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 7
Kudos: 81





	What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire world, which is trademarked by George R.R. Martin and HBO. All of the characters in this work were created and owned by George R.R. Martin, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire. This story is for entertainment purposes only and is not part of the official story line. The author has not and will not receive any financial compensation for this work. I am so grateful to George R.R. Martin and to HBO for their wonderful stories and episodes in Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire and without them, my works would not exist. There may also be referenced or used, lines of dialog or integrations of story lines from other media. When those are used, credit will be given to the original author in the notes at the end of the chapter. Thank you for reading & enjoy!

Jon knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t make himself stop. As he lay in the warm, comfortable featherbed – as her guest – Jon Snow, the King in the North, found himself thinking of the ethereal beauty of his host. He sat up and pounded his pillows, falling back with a grunt. He tossed and turned for over an hour, finally giving in to the image of her in his mind: pale skin glowing gold in the firelight, lips pink and swollen from his kiss, silver hair fanned out around her, violet eyes like smoldering embers as they gazed up at him from where she lay. He was hard as a rock in an instant.

Alone in his chambers that night, as nearly every night since he’d come to Dragonstone, he’d been in a brooding, black mood. He had met the Dragon Queen nearly a fortnight ago; she’d not come to greet him on the beach when he and Ser Davos landed, instead sending Missandei – her most trusted advisor - and Tyrion, her Hand. She had called him ‘My Lord,’ not ‘Your Grace.’ She had demanded he ‘bend the knee’ and swear fealty to her, upholding an oath that Torrhen Stark had made to her ancestor Aegon the Conquerer. She was arrogant, impudent, demanding, and unearthly fucking fair. In the throne room, she had descended from the dais and come down to face him, standing mere inches from him. She was entirely not what he expected – young, close to his own age, and so ungodly beautiful. He could feel the heat coming off her body through all of his layers of wool, and leather, and armor.

He finally gave up on sleep, rising from his furs naked, his own pale skin awash in the light thrown from the fire. Lean, muscular and hard, he had the look of a gladiator, replete with the scars of battle. He walked to the chair before the fire, and threw on his dressing robe, tying the sash at his waist. He sat and poured himself a drink, savoring the warmth of the mulled wine as it snaked into his belly. He hoped it would take the edge off and allow him to drift into a dreamless sleep.

He did drift off to sleep before the fire, but instead of a dreamless sleep, he dreamt of her. It was the most vivid – and erotic - dream he’d ever had. He knocked at her chamber door. She’d opened it, her violet eyes wide and longing, her pink lips slightly parted. He pushed past her, turning to slam the door and pinning her to it. Her chest was heaving, her eyes wild as he cupped her face and kissed her. Gently at first, as if taking the first sip of a fine wine. He breathed her in, then slipped his tongue between her lips. She tasted like violets.

He woke with a start when the cup slipped from his hand, clattering to the stone floor. He realized it had all been a dream, but try telling that to his cock, throbbing beneath his robe. He could swear he could still smell her, still taste her. His fingertips tingled as though they had just left her cheek. It had been so fucking real. He rose and went to the door leading out to the balcony. Throwing it open, he padded outside barefoot, leaning onto the railing and staring out into the darkness of the midnight sea. 

The cool breeze and sound of the waves did nothing to calm his nerves. He felt as though his blood was molten lava in his veins, burning his soul with each beat of his heart. These dreams had come to him nearly every night since he’d been here. Each morning after, when he’d greeted the queen as they broke their fasts, she’d acted a bit softer toward him than the day before. He’d even caught her staring at him once or twice, though she didn’t look away when he did, instead looking as though she might swallow him whole. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she felt the same burning attraction to him that he did for her. He thought again of the sweet taste of violets when he had dipped his tongue in the nectar of her mouth. He had to know for himself, for real. The hour was late; he’d drunk too much wine and felt far too bold, he knew, but he left his room anyway, not bothering to dress.

He reached the door he knew to be hers, hands on his hips as he stood there second-guessing his decision to come. He ran a hand through the mass of dark curls on his head. Loose from its usual bun, it was wild and unruly. _Fuck it,_ he thought to himself, and knocked softly twice. _If she answers, she answers._ He heard muffled sounds from within, someone coming to the door, turning the lock. It swung open and there she stood, a question on her face. Silhouetted by the fire that burned within, her diaphanous nightdress left little to the imagination. She hadn’t bothered with a robe, and the gossamer fabric clung to her full, pink-tipped breasts and the curve of her hips, falling just below her shapely calves.

“My Lord?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is aught amiss?” He saw her eyes sweep over his face, then lower to where the loosely tied robe displayed his thickly corded neck and muscled chest.

He did not answer her, but instead strode through the door, turning to push it shut with one hand while pinning her against it with his other. As in his dream, she held her gaze to his, violet eyes burning holes right through him. He put his hand behind her neck and pulled her to him, angling his head down to claim her mouth. She melted into his kiss, allowing his tongue to plunder the depths of her mouth. She kissed him back, her tongue dueling with his own. The sweet taste of violets came to him.

He spun her and began to slowly back her to the bed across the room. She slid her small, pale hands beneath the soft black fabric of his robe, running her fingers lightly across his collarbone, then down to his chest. Her breath caught in her throat and her fingers stopped exploring when they made the discovery of the scar over his heart. She pushed the robe aside, breaking their kiss for the first time, and looking at the raised ridge of scar that curved over his pectoral muscle. She looked up into his eyes in silent question, brow furrowed, remember what Davos had said about him taking a knife in the heart for his people. 

He watched the realization wash over her face, an expression of pain clouding her eyes, as she bent to place a kiss over the curved, still-angry mark. He had never known a woman with a gentle touch, had never known a woman to treat him with reverence like she was doing now. He didn’t quite know what to make of it, but the moment her lips touched his chest, as her tongue traced the jagged scar, he couldn’t stifle the husky, pleasured sigh that escaped his lips.

Daenerys untied the sash at his waist, then ran her hands over his chest, to his shoulders and down his arms, pushing the thick robe onto the floor at his feet. She wanted to look at him, but he never gave her the chance, reaching down to cup her round ass and hoisting her up to wrap her legs about his hips. She felt his hard member against her molten core, the only barrier the thin cream silk of her shift.

Jon walked to the bed, and gently laid her down on the furs. She was so beautiful it almost hurt him to breathe. He bent down over her, supporting himself on one arm as he fisted the other in her silver-gold hair and kissed her neck, collarbone, and the tip of each breast. Her nipples, so sensitive to his touch, became instantly hard under his lips. He kissed sucked them through the silken fabric until Dany was writhing and panting beneath him.

He slid his hands down her body, over her smooth belly, down her legs to the hem of the nightdress. He pushed the silky fabric over her thighs, pooling it at her hips. She could feel the calluses on his palms and thumbs, no-doubt caused by frequent, heavy use of the bastard sword he wore, on the insides of her thighs. A tremor ran through her when she felt him part her folds and his hot breath on her most private place. When his tongue touched her, she cried out and tangled her hands in his hair. No man had ever kissed her thus, by swirling his tongue around her sensitive bud or lapping the juices from her folds. When he plunged his tongue inside her and began to stroke his rough thumb over her bundle of nerves, a dam burst inside her, wave upon wave of pure pleasure washing over her. She cried out his name loudly, not caring who could hear. _Jon, Jon … oh, oh, Jon!_

He kept his mouth on her as she rode out the wave, her thighs tensing and squeezing his head, hands pulling his hair. When at last he felt only the occasional shudder of her body, he rose from between her pale white thighs. She clawed at him, managing to hook her hand behind his neck and pull her mouth down to hers. She kissed him with an intensity that made him feel like she needed him to live, needed him like she needed air or water. He had never felt that anyone had needed him before in his life, and it was intoxicating.

She reached down between their bodies and found his hardness, her hand enveloping him and stroking him from root to tip, squeezing out a few drops of slippery pre-cum, her thumb spreading it over his cockhead. Jon let out a course, gravelly moan which Daenerys smothered with her mouth. She kissed his jaw to his ear. “I need you inside me,” she whispered simply.

It was all Jon needed to hear; he wrapped his hands around her thighs, holding her steady as he found her entrance and slowly sank into her. She was slick and wet from his oral attentions, and he slid easily in until he was seated to the hilt. Supporting himself on his arms, he rested his forehead on hers, reveling in the pleasure of her tight, wet sheath. “Please,” she whimpered, as if begging him to move. He obliged her, setting a slow pace that was both delicious pleasure and exquisite torture.

Daenerys moaned and writhed beneath him, her breath quickening. They kept their eyes locked on one another’s: his, like molten amber in the firelight; hers like flaming lilac embers. Jon took her wrists and slid her arms above her head, twining his fingers with hers to hold them there. He knew she was close; he could feel her muscles tensing around his cock. He kissed her deeply, the movements of his tongue mimicking his thrusts into her cunt, the pleasure building deep within them both, threatening to explode at any moment. She bit him then, sinking her small sharp teeth into his lower lip. Jon tasted his own blood even as Dany began to moan and fall to pieces around him, digging her heels into his ass as she came. She dug her fingernails into his muscular back and shoulders, and at this, Jon came undone, emptying his seed deep inside her.

Spent, Jon collapsed onto his side, wrapping his arm around Dany and pulling her against him. He reached down and pulled the furs up over them both. They lay in silence for quite a while, Dany snuggled into the curve of Jon’s body, as their breathing returned to normal. Finally, Jon said, his voice thick and husky, “I’ve dreamt about you, about this … us nearly every night since I arrived here.”

Daenerys, running her fingers lightly over his knuckles, smiled. “I’ve dreamt of you as well. I knew you’d come to me eventually.”

“Did you, Your Grace?” he asked. There was amusement in his voice. “How so?”

“I’m no ordinary girl, Jon Snow. My dreams come true,” she said, and she rolled over to give him a passionate kiss.

Jon fell asleep with Daenerys Stormborn in his arms, the taste of violets on his lips.


End file.
